Sherlock Holmes and The Star of the East
by Capt-Facepalm
Summary: A Casefic. Christmas time brings a new case for the world's only consulting detective and unexpected danger for his flatmate. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Sherlock Holmes and the Star of the East

**Sherlock Holmes and The Star of the East**

**Rating:** PG-13  
**Fandom:** BBC Sherlock  
**Characters:** Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sarah Sawyer, others  
**Summary:** _Christmas time brings a new case for the world's only consulting detective and unexpected danger for his flatmate._  
**Author's Notes: ** Based on the following prompts:** strange, dog(s), Russian, music, **and** church**, this is my first BBC-Sherlock casefic; a Christmas tale compliant with Series I, with a dash of ACD canon in the mix. (The story is complete but chapters will be posted incrementally.)

**Chapters:** (so far)

December 23rd  
December 24th  
December 25th, Part One  
December 25th, Part Two  
December 26th  
December 27th  
December 28th  
January 7th _(complete)_

So, Dear Reader, now that the preamble is out of the way, I hope you enjoy this story.  
The adventure begins with the next chapter!


	2. December 23rd

**Sherlock Holmes and ****_The Star of the East_**

**_Prologue_**

'And in good new stories, Lady Sylvia Morcar (widow of financier Lord Silas Morcar), has confirmed the rumours that she will indeed be donating _The Star of The East_ to the British Museum. As with many famous gems, _The Star of The East_diamond had a wonderfully dark and bloody provenance, and some reputation as being cursed. The diamond's curse hasn't seemed to affect Lady Sylvia though. Since her husband's death ten years ago, she has become one of Britain's most beloved philanthropists, donating generously to a great number of charities and good causes. This year her cause is the British Museum. The stone, valued in excess of £5 000 000, will be housed in a special exhibit whose proceeds will be directed towards the Educate Britain's Children, the national educational initiative.'

The video cut to a close-up of Lady Silvia, a pleasant-faced, fading beauty, with a twinkle of mischief about her eyes.

'My needs are simple, so before I shuffle off this mortal coil, I truly intend to distribute the balance of my husband's estate throughout world.'

'Well, Lady Silvia, I'm sure I am not alone in thanking you and wishing you a Happy Christmas! This is Walter Simms, reporting from Stoke-on-Trent, for BBC News.'

In the background, Lady Morcar is shown throwing a ball for a large, hairy Borzoi, on the grounds of her estate. She laughs as the dog sniffs the ball, finds it beneath its dignity to pick it up, and returns to her side.

'And that great thumping sound is just Lord Silas, turning in his grave. Thank heaven for eccentrics, and thank you, Walter,' the anchorman concluded.

.oOOo.

**_Chapter One: December 23rd_**

Even two days before Christmas the waiting room of the little Kensington surgery was well-attended. Head colds and minor aches and pains refused to take time off and get into the holiday spirit. The lights on a flimsy tabletop Christmas tree gently shifted red to white to green and off as it leaned drunkenly in the corner. It would be glad when the holidays were over and it could resume its year-long hibernation in the safety of the storage room where there were no snotty children to twist its branches, nor stroppy teens to ridicule its forlorn condition, nor exhausted adults to scorn it for being what it was: a weak attempt at Christmas cheer. Yes, if it were not for the surgery staff who pitied it, dusted it, and re-straightened it, the little tree would have been as bitter as those wreaths hanging on doors to the dentists' suite across the corridor.

This year, with Dr Edwards off on maternity leave, Dr Sarah Sawyer had hired another doctor to fill in on a part-time basis. To this Dr John Watson fell the least desirable patients: those malingerers who demanded fit notes so they could spend more time with their families, more fit notes for students who feared taking their exams, and to young children who needed to have a flu jab. Failing to get the latter right would cause a lifelong resentment of doctors accompanied by a fear of needles. The long hours with these patients and their endless complaints wore at the man, yet he stayed late each evening, reconstructing the tree, then to slump in the reception area, and wait to help Dr Sawyer close up.

At 1445 it was still more than five hours before closing when the little waiting area suddenly filled with commotion. A young child shrieked and another squealed with delight. Angry adult voices could be heard. Apparently some great fool had walked into reception with a very large dog. A wave of its tail scattered the coffee table's stack of magazines all over the floor. There was more outcry and now voices were calling for Dr John Watson.

'Sherlock, that's a dog. A very big dog!' John exclaimed as he emerged from the files room.

'Astute as always John.'

'No, I mean you cannot bring a dog into the surgery. There are health regulations...'

'It's for a case. An important case. I need you to walk him.'

'What? No! I'm working here. Are you trying to get me fired?'

'Is that a possibility?' he asked, unable to disguise his hope.

'No. It isn't,' Sarah replied from deep within her office.

'Is it right to assume that you are spending the holidays at Sarah's?'

'I thought you never assumed...,' John took one look at Sherlock's expression and abandoned that course of answer. 'Yes, of course.'

'Excellent! Mrs Hudson won't allow the dog into the house. Here's his food. He gets two cups for breakfast and two cups for dinner. He needs to be walked right now, and you will have to collect and retain any faecal matter. Take notes. Time and place. That sort of thing.'

'Sherlock! I can't just leave...!'

Sarah now joined them, gaping in disbelief at the exchange occurring in her midst. Unsupervised, the dog's ridiculously long and pointed nose sniffed beneath the tree.

'Oh! Not again!' John exclaimed, pushing the dog aside and picking up the little angel which lay there. This time, its fall from its less-than-lofty position atop the tree had snapped off one of its wings.

'Hurry up, John!'

'Hang on! Give me a minute!'

John retreated to his consulting office with the porcelain fragments while Sarah and Sherlock shared an awkward pause. Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he removed (yet another) long, curly dog hair from his coat. A few minutes later John emerged with his coat and scarf, looking hurried and flustered.

'You needn't spend all of Christmas at Sarah's,' Sherlock said, 'Besides, it's obvious that she doesn't care for you any longer... '

'What? Obvious? Obvious, how?'

'Yes, Sherlock, how exactly?' Sarah asked, arms folded.

'Erm... ah... by letting you be seen in that ugly old coat.'

'It's not ugly, it's warm.'

'The terms are not mutually exclusive. Sarah, a second opinion, please?'

'Yes. It is a warm coat.' she replied. Diplomacy suited her. She also knew that its more fashionable replacement lay wrapped and waiting under the Christmas tree in her flat.

'Wait, Sherlock! I don't know anything about dogs! I don't even know his name!'

'It's Gus. Gus something. And, it's irrelevant. Remember, label everything. Time and date.'

.oOOo.

The pavement outside the surgery was wet with melting snow. Flurries danced on the wind but John's coat and scarf protected him from the swirling draughts. Gus was either used to strangers walking him, or was just easy-going, and walked smartly by John's side. People stopped to stare at the unlikely pair: the man in the ugly (yes, he could admit it, but just not to Sherlock) coat, and the very elegant Russian wolfhound. Every now and then, John would look down and smile in spite of himself. Gus would look right back at him with those deep brown eyes. John shook his head in amazement. He had never really known any big dogs before. His idea of a perfect dog was something smaller, more portable; something like a wire-haired dachshund or a small bulldog. Gus wagged his tail in a lazy fashion and sneezed when he snuffled in an errant snowflake.

They walked for a few blocks before rounding the corner to the church grounds and entering through the gateway. This was a shortcut to the next block and was a frequent haunt for local dog walkers. The snow was starting to accumulate on the grassy lawn but the paths remained mostly clear. Gus stopped for a squat. John nonchalantly looked around and spotted the poster for the Christmas Eve Carol service. Strains of _Adeste Fideles_being played on the great organ could be heard even from where he stood. John's involvement with the church petered out around the time he started first form, but perhaps Sarah would be interested in the special service, and it seemed like something normal people would do at Christmas time. Civilian life would still take some getting used to.

Gus, his mission accomplished, stretched and pranced while John 'bagged and tagged the evidence'. He tried to imagine Sherlock Holmes picking up after a dog. He laughed a little before he realised that the world's only consulting detective would never stoop so low and would likely pawn that task off on some flunky.

_Ah._

Miffed by this new realisation, John sat down on the cold bench, trying to think of a snarky comment to add to the notation on the baggie. Gus stopped and gave him a quizzical look so he settled for patting the dog's head and fondling its silky ears.

'Such a wonderful dog!'

Two young women from the Uni approached making cooing noises at Gus. John discreetly let the baggie fall beside the bench while the girls made a fuss. They wanted to know everything: his breed, his age, how long he had him. John had not received this much attention in a long time and marvelled that Gus was such a... what did his American friends say... oh yeah, _chick-magnet_. The girls left and John gave Gus a serious look.

'Keep that up and you are going to get me in trouble with Sarah.'

Gus just wagged his tail and batted his innocent big brown eyes.

John was about to retrieve his 'package' when another voice spoke to him.

'That's a fine dog you have there.'

John looked up to see Father Christmas approaching him.

'He's not mine,' John confessed. 'I'm walking him for a friend.'

'Hello, Pretty One,' Father Christmas said, extending a dog biscuit to Gus. 'Can I pat him?'

'I'm sure he would love it. He rather likes attention.'

'Oh! Is there something wrong with his front paw?'

'Not that I noticed,' John said as he leaned forward to examine it more closely.

Good will suddenly switched to pain and terror. John's scarf was yanked from the back of his neck and 50 000 volts surged from a stun gun held against his exposed skin. He screamed as his head exploded with pain and he collapsed into the slushy pavement. Gus thrashed against his leash, frantic to escape. Father Christmas swore in a most uncharacteristically vulgar way and he was joined by an accomplice. John could only twitch and try to breathe. He heard a dog yelp in pain and then he was being hauled to the back of a white panel van and unceremoniously tossed inside. Someone searched him and emptied his pockets. Doors were slammed shut and the van pulled into the afternoon traffic.

Before John could regain any control of his motor functions, he was stunned again, this time for a longer duration. When consciousness returned, he found himself gagged and blindfolded with duct tape, his hands were secured behind his back and his legs also immobilised, probably with rope. After a few futile attempts, he realised he was helpless. His head bounced against the cold metal floor with every bump in the road. Really, someone ought to put more work into motorway infrastructure repair.

.oOOo.

It was well dark when the van pulled off the main motorway onto a secondary road, and then to a stop. It was the lack of movement which probably woke John from his stupor. He heard the rear door open and a man climbed in. From the sound of it, he was trying to coax Gus to go out for a walk. The cold draft swirling into the compartment reminded John's bladder that it really needed to be emptied. He tried to get his abductor's attention, but the tape sealing his mouth muffled everything into what sounded like whimpers of protest. A rough hand gripped his jaw and another tore the tape away.

'...needapee... please...'

'Alright, Mr Holmes, but if you try anything stupid, I'll zap you again.'

_Mr Holmes? Well, that just figures_, thought John.

There were at least two men. They untied (yes, it was rope) his arms and legs but left his eyes taped shut. One of them, the Father Christmas man by his voice, shoved him out the door. John's legs and arms had stiffened, and he fell to the ground with a grunt. They laughed. _Play along. Let them have the upper hand for now. Gather information. Not all observations are visual._John mumbled apologies as his hands felt the gravel under the slush. There was at least ten centimetres of snow. He listened for any sound, but all was silent except for the tread of his two captors and Gus. The only discernible smell was that of evergreen trees.

'Get on with it,' he was instructed, and so he did. Lying on the cold floor for so long had kicked his kidneys into overdrive. When he was finished, he was ordered to climb back into the van. Outside, the man walking Gus was not having any luck. The dog was nervous and just would not eliminate. Now Gus was refusing to get back into the van.

'Call the dog, Mr Holmes. Call him or I'll light you up like a Christmas tree.' John stiffened as the stunner was once again pressed into his neck. He weighed his options and received a slap. Reluctantly, he called for Gus and felt the dog's added weight rock the van as he jumped in. John reached out a clumsy hand and found Gus's muzzle in apology just as the voltage ripped through his spinal column.

'Next time, no hesitation, ye bastard!' he heard through the pain.

Although it still hurt like hell, John could tell that the stun gun's voltage was not as strong as before. The batteries were dying due to the cold. Small consolation considering he was too incapacitated to resist the replacement tape gag and the rebinding of his arms and legs. The doors were slammed shut and he and Gus were alone again as the van continued along its journey.

.oOOo.

_**Next Chapter: December 24th**_


	3. December 24th

**Sherlock Holmes and**_** The Star of the East**_

_**Chapter Two: December 24th**_

.oOOo.

At 0930 Sarah called John's mobile again. It was unlike him to be late for work. Well, that was not entirely true. He was very likely to be late if he was still running spurious errands for Sherlock or involved in some ongoing investigation. But he had always, always called to apologise and let her know. _Dammit! Still no answer._ The surgery would be open only until noon and there was a backlog of patients waiting. The other doctors were furious.

.oOOo.

John woke again, numb with cold and parched with thirst. An undetermined amount of time had passed, but surely it was the next day. _Christmas Eve._Gus, reacting to some sound outside, began to stir. The van was opened and the dog was removed. Cold fresh air blew in. John heard angry voices. Father Christmas was arguing with... yes, definitely, a woman.

'Who the hell is that?'

'It's Sherlock Holmes.'

'That's not Holmes, you imbeciles! Do you even have the right dog?'

'Lady, you said to watch the surgery. Wait for the Sherlock Holmes. He'd be the bloke with the Russian wolfhound. Grab them both. We done just that. It's the right dog... just the wrong bloke.'

'Well, the dog was more important, but that leaves some unfortunate loose ends. Have you been following my instructions?'

'Yeah but that dog has not shat at all. Must be nerves, or somefing.'

'Give it one more day. Feed her these. If they don't work, you're going to have to cut her open.'

_Her? Gus was a 'her'?_John rolled onto his side and kicked the van walls to get his captors' attention. Father Christmas swore at him, warned him to stop it, and slammed the door shut. A small car engine started and it sprayed gravel as it accelerated and sped away. All was quiet again until the door opened again and someone climbed in. Father Christmas had returned.

'John Watson? Don't be shy... I know your name. I have your wallet. Just do what you're told and you won't be harmed. Understand?'

John nodded in reply and mmmph'ed to ask a question. The tape was torn away allowing John to speak again.

'...sorry... needapissagain... sorry...'

'Arright, watch yer step.' John's hands and legs were freed again and he was hauled, still blindfolded, to the door. The air was cold and fresh, and smelled of the sea. He could feel the sun's warmth when he turned away from the wind. Once he had relieved himself, he listened to the two men's conversation and other sounds. There were no traffic noises at all. The wind hummed through high tension hydro lines and hissed through dry tree branches. From the snatches of discussion, John discerned that the woman was the men's employer, and they were unhappy about how their assignment was going. They had expected to be done and paid by Christmas.

'You done yet?' one called.

'...yeah... thanks. Any chance of a cuppa, or something to drink... anything?' John replied. _Use an empathetic approach: Do not let them dehumanise you._

'You wouldn't want that. It might be a long time before we let you out again.'

'Can I have a blanket, or something to keep warm?'

'Sorry mate, we don't have one. Maybe tomorrow, yeah?'

John sighed and tried to appear small and vulnerable. Father Christmas guided him back to the van, but not as roughly as before. Gus was waiting for him inside. This time there was no need to use the stun gun. When John was once again gagged and secured he was surprised that the vehicle remained parked and was not driven away. Gus sniffed him a few times before curling up next to him. Surely someone would be looking for them by now.

.oOOo.

**_Next Chapter: December 25th (part one)_**


	4. December 25th, Part One

**Sherlock Holmes and**_** The Star of the East**_

_**Chapter Three: December 25th (part one)**_

.oOOo.

John woke much later, colder than ever. Wind rocked the van and the temperature had dropped to several degrees below freezing. He could not tell if it was day or night. Cramps seized his stomach but he was tied up in such a way that he could not find any position that provided relief. A whimper escaped, and then another one. Gus shifted, alert and attentive to this new sound. A particularly sharp pain rippled through John's gut and he moaned into his gag. Gus stood, raised her pointy head and let out an ungodly howl. John encouraged her. If this continued, maybe someone would hear their eerie chorus.

.oOOo.

Sherlock found Christmas carols boring; he had ever since he was a boy. Unfortunately, being Christmas morning, the telly was full of them. He waited until the broadcast of the Royal Christmas Message had concluded before he texted John again. Surely the doctor was not still mad for abandoning the dog with him. All signs indicated that Sarah liked dogs. John was just being petulant by withholding the evidence Sherlock needed. _Idiot._

John still did not answer. Sherlock paced. How could anyone ignore forty-three messages, even if they were really angry. John could be stubborn, but he was rarely rude. There was nothing else for it. He would have to call Sarah. She picked up on the second ring, her voice a mix of agitation and expectation.

'Sarah, let me speak to John... No, he's not with me... I assumed he was with you... When did you last see him? Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you.'

Ten minutes later Sherlock's cab pulled up in front of Sarah's building. She was waiting in the lobby and ran out to meet it. Another three minutes later, and she was unlocking the doors to the surgery. Sherlock wanted to retrace John's movements from the time he left. They started in his consulting room.

'John had expected to return that afternoon,' Sherlock deduced aloud. His hat and briefcase had been left behind. Sarah nodded and stared at the items left on the desk. John always cleared everything away in case some other doctor needed the room. Liquid correction fluid, Insta-Glu! (TM), and transparent nail polish sat to one side. Sarah picked up the last item and biting her lip, handed it to Sherlock. It was the angel from the tree; her wing repaired, her white paint retouched and shellacked with nail polish, and left to dry.

Sherlock resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. He removed John's laptop form the briefcase and powered it up.

'He gave you his password?'

Sherlock did not deign to reply and just kept typing in likely combinations. It never took him very long to deduce John's password. The man had a very pedestrian imagination. Except for the urgency, this time was no different. Sherlock gave a snort of triumph as the latest code was cracked.

John's agenda contained nothing of use so Sherlock logged in to his mobile service provider. John's smartphone could be tracked, even when powered down. Sarah took the little angel and returned her to her perch atop the little tree in reception. From any distance over a metre, no flaws could be seen. It was just like John to try to mend broken things. Back in the consulting room, fingers drummed with impatience as the website was slow to update. Finally, the location! John was at the church, just a few blocks away. It was an odd choice for John to make, but Christmas made people do strange things.

'He's in the church. He's probably safe.'

.oOOo.

John was in fact many, many kilometres away, and far from safe. His concepts of time and distance blurred with his discomfort. The panel van had been stationary for a long time. How long, John could not say. His abductors had long stopped letting Gus out for walks and may have abandoned them both to die. The cold robbed John of his strength but not his determination. He rubbed his face against the seam in the metal floor of the van, trying to dislodge the tape from his mouth and eyes. Gus helped by licking John's ears, which really was no help at all.

.oOOo.

Being early afternoon, the church was closed and locked when Sarah and Sherlock arrived. They circled the whole structure and found it annoyingly secure. The morning service had long since concluded and the congregation had left to enjoy their Christmas dinners.

'He's not in there, Sherlock. Something bad has happened.'

'There is not enough data to form that conclusion...' Sherlock muttered and reopened John's laptop. With their closer proximity, the precision of the tracking app increased to ten metres (plus or minus twenty-five metres). Now the tracker indicated that the mobile phone was in the churchyard, not the church. Sarah was right: John being separated from his phone was not a good sign.

'His phone is here somewhere. We have to find it. Look everywhere,' Sherlock growled in growing frustration.

'Do you think...?'

'No. Don't be stupid. John wouldn't just lose his phone by accident. So, why don't you channel your anger and try to find it, rather than standing there, seething at me?'

Sarah gave Sherlock a blank look as she pulled out her phone and punched in John's number.

'I already tried that, but at least you are thinking. Look in the shrubs and the rubbish bins... anywhere out of sight. If it could be seen, someone would have picked it up.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and imagined John's passage through the park. What would John have done? _'I'm John Watson and I am walking a big dog. I've worked a long day and I'm walking a huge dog. My leg gets stiff in cold weather and I haven't had much time for regular exercise.'_

Sherlock opened his eyes and immediately headed for the solitary bench. At its foot, he found a ziplock baggie of half-frozen dog excreta, carefully labelled in John Watson's distinctive scrawl:

_2011-12-23; 1507; SH IS A WANKER_

Sherlock pinched and prodded the brown material in the baggie and smiled when he located the hard lump he had expected to find.

Sarah waved to get his attention. 'There is something middle of those shrubs. I think it's his phone!'

Sherlock was instantly at her side, looking where she indicated. _Yes!_ He waded in, his coat catching on the sharp twigs. Careful not to spoil any fingerprints, he retrieved the phone. It was John's. Clara's inscription to Harry was still on the back, but the screen had been smashed, the glass was no longer intact, and the battery had been removed. Clever! But not clever enough. This model had a back up power supply specifically for tracking, and in fumbling around with it, someone had left several very clear fingerprints.

.oOOo.

Another cab took Sherlock and Sarah to New Scotland Yard. They soon found out that the forensics labs were closed for the day and the staff remaining refused to call in the technicians for a set of fingerprints for a private consultant, no matter how abusive he was. Sherlock called Lestrade at home, who listened to all the details, but could do nothing until the next day.

'Sherlock, isn't there anything we can do?' Sarah asked.

The consultant thought for a moment and phoned Lestrade back and said he needed to use his office, and stating that, no, he did not need a key.

'Oh, and Lestrade? You should contact Lady Morcar and tell her that I have recovered _The Star of the East_. Yes, _the_diamond. It was stolen, and I recovered it.'

Sherlock gave a heavy sigh while the DI went on.

'...and arrest her personal assistant. Evidence? No, not as such... Well, have her followed. Trace her phone. You know, police stuff!'

'_The Star of the East_?' Sarah asked, 'What does the diamond have to do with this?'

When the Detective Inspector arrived, he found Sherlock and Sarah accessing his computer and viewing what looked very much like closed-caption security footage of the street beyond the churchyard. What they saw filled Sarah with dread.

A man tossed the limp body of a large dog into the back of a white panel van, then went outside the camera coverage. Seconds later he returned with a second man, and hustling a third man's body into the van as well. The second man was dressed as Father Christmas... and the limp body had a distinctly ugly coat...

'There's the proof that John was abducted. This footage was taken the day before yesterday. Now are you going to tell me you can't call the lab technicians in? We just need a fingerprints expert and access to the database.'

Lestrade made a couple of calls and found a technician ready to forgo his Christmas dinner for the opportunity to make triple overtime wages. While they waited, Sherlock analysed all the CCTV coverage he could find. Using different angles and time periods, he managed to spot the van's arrival, obtain a partial licence number, and plot its course until it merged onto the east-bound A2.

By the time the fingerprints technician arrived, they have traced the partial licence plate to Valley Rent-Alls, a small, London based rental company whose offices were closed for the holidays. Working well into the evening, they tracked down the phone number of the owners, but there was no answer. The fingerprints, while perfectly legible, proved to not be in the system. They would have to wait until morning when the rental company was scheduled to re-open. With nothing to do in the meantime, Sherlock tried to trace the movements of the van before the abduction occurred. Another dead end.

.oOOo.

'And before we sign off this evening, we have one further item to report:

'The Metropolitan Police have issued a missing persons alert for Dr John H. Watson. Dr Watson is a local general practitioner and was last seen near his Kensington practice, walking a large dog of the Borzoi breed. Dr Watson is forty years old, of medium height and build, with light brown hair and blue eyes, and may walk with a slight limp. He was last seen wearing grey trousers, brown shoes, and a green army surplus winter coat. Friends and colleagues insist that this disappearance is inconsistent with his behaviour and are very concerned. Police are treating this disappearance as 'suspicious' and would like to speak to anyone who was in the vicinity of St Basil's Church on the afternoon of December 23rd.'

A fairly recent photograph of John filled the screen and a freephone number scrolled across the bottom.

'Police officials would neither confirm nor deny that foul play is suspected.'

'Well, our hopes and prayers are with Dr Watson's friends and family at this time. Good night all and Happy Christmas from everyone here at BBC News.'

.oOOo.

_**Next Chapter: December 25th (part one)**_


	5. December 25th, Part Two

**Sherlock Holmes and**_** The Star of the East**_

_**Chapter Four: December 25th**__ (part two)_

.oOOo.

After hours of scraping against the seam in the metal floor, John had finally dislodged the gag from his mouth. It took him several attempts before he could speak above a croak. Then he called to Gus.

"Here Gus! Here Gus! Good doggie! Chew the ropes! The ropes! OWW! No, that's okay, it's not your fault. Stop licking my face! Stop it! _(sigh)_Yes, I love you too...'

Borzoi are not known for their escapological instincts. They have been known to leap high fences, but not to chew through polypropylene rope, so Gus settled once again to watch John's contortions to free himself.

Some time later, Gus alerted to some sound outside and stood in expectation. The door was once again opened and Gus was led away. John could sense a change in their captors' demeanour. They were more impatient and Father Christmas was unnecessarily cruel in his handling. _They've made up their minds. They're going to kill us._John was untied and pushed out the door. He was weaker than he hoped and his balance was off, but this was going to be his best time to escape.

When John did not move when he was told, Father Christmas shoved he stun gun into his neck and pulled the trigger. John collapsed but the charge was less than debilitating. _Don't make your move until you're ready._Father Christmas hauled him up closer to the van and called to his partner for assistance.

'What did you do that for?' he got in reply.

'What does it matter. Cops found the gem. Catherine is going to let us take the blame for all of this. We can't even ransom the mutt, and this guy knows too much.'

'Nobody was supposed to get hurt...'

'...yeah, well... things change'

Hands freed, John lay in the snow and slowly removed the tape from his eyes. It was a moonlit night and they were somewhere in the countryside. John's hand found a small twig among the rocks on the ground and moved his head slightly to see more. He was within reach of the rear tyre. _Perfect._The two thugs argued until Gus distracted them with a brilliant manoeuvre: she squatted and 'dumped a load'.

'Now she does it!'

'Do you suppose...?'

'Catherine said the cops found it...'

'She could be lying. There was nothing in the news. Or, even the cops...'

While both men knelt to examine Gus's leavings, John removed the rear tyre's valve cap and inserted the twig. The tyre began deflating with a low hissing sound. With an awkward lurch, John regained his feet and simultaneously hurled a cricket ball-sized rock at man with Father Christmas's voice. It hit him hard in the neck, stunning him and knocking him to the ground. John had aimed for his head. _Oh well, rugby wasn't my game for nothing!_John launched himself at the other man and his surprise tackle carried them both down an embankment.

With Father Christmas recovering there were no time for fond farewells. John gathered himself, sloshed his way through a shallow creek, and sprinted towards the woods on the other side. With a long bouncing stride Gus followed, her lead trailing behind her. This would be a desperate flight: John would be at a distinct disadvantage. Outnumbered, he did not know where he was or where he was going, and he was leaving a very clear trail in the snow. John removed Gus's lead and stuffed in his coat pocket.

Only the dark of night allowed the woods to afford sufficient cover for their escape. Trees were sparse and followed the course of the creek. Often there were long gaps between the copses which John and Gus crossed in reckless sprints. At first, John thought to obscure their passage by walking in the creek, but the water was icy cold and Gus could neither be convinced nor coerced to follow suit.

The night clouded over and a light rain began to fall. John needed to find a telephone. A house or a commercial building would suffice. If nobody was around he had no qualms about breaking in. If an alarm was set off, all the better; he could wait for the police. They had been on the run for over an hour when. in the distance, John saw a single security light illuminating the space between three low, metal buildings. He changed course.

The compound proved to be _Eddsom's Farm Machinery Sales and Service_. The business was closed for the holidays and was surrounded by a three metre high security fence topped with razor-wire. Even the gate was similarly equipped. John walked the perimeter, looking for a way in. He found instead, a rock to smash the gate's padlock and set to work. Half a dozen solid strikes mashed the lock but failed to disengage the mechanism. He would have to climb.

The rain made everything slippery. John rubbed his hands to warm them and grabbed hold of the fence. His feet were clumsy with cold and could not find purchase in the chain links. Just out of reach of the top horizontal pipe, John's feet slipped and he was left dangling. Unable to recover his footing, his arms wrenched catching his weight. He had to let go and try again. His second attempt also failed, leaving him shaking with cold and exertion. There would be no third attempt. His weak shoulder would not bear the strain. Gus commiserated while he slumped against the fence and perked her head just as headlamps could be seen along the road.

Before John could stagger to his feet Gus began to whine and cower. _Damn. _It was Father Christmas's panel van. She must have recognised the sound it made. John hauled her to the ground and held her still, hoping that her white fur would be mistaken for a clump of snow. They lay in the shallow ditch water while the van stopped at the foot of the lane and torchlight swept the gate area. John closed his eyes, held his breath, and willed their pursuers away. _These are not the droids you're looking for._An eternity later, he heard the van pull away, which left John to wonder if what had just happened really had just happened.

Muddy and soaked to the skin, man and dog left the farm machinery shop and resumed following the creek. Eventually it emptied into a rain-swollen river. Copses of trees were fewer in number but there was no more sprinting for cover. John and Gus were both exhausted. _Keep moving... keep warm._While they had slaked their thirst with water from the creek and river, neither had eaten in the past two days.

With no other signs of habitation, John followed the river for a couple of kilometres until their path was thwarted by a motorway bridge. The swollen water surged past the bridge footings, leaving no place to walk. The river was too wide, too deep, and too fast-flowing to be forded. There was also a stand of trees for better cover on the other bank, but they would have to use the bridge to get to it. At least the rain had moved on and the moon could be seen slinking in and out of the clouds.

John crept up the bank, looking and listening for any signs of pursuit. There were tyre treads in the slushy snow but he could not tell how recent they were. All was dark and quiet. He called for Gus. Half of the narrow bridge had been cordoned off with pylons to ward drivers from a section where the concrete wall had given way. Reconstruction efforts had been put on hold for the holidays and warning signs had been left in place. John was halfway across the bridge when Gus caught up with him, limping. There was not enough light to see what was wrong but John could feel her flinch when he examined her front paw.

'Hang in there, _Princess_. We'll stop again once we're in those woods. Just a few...'

Gus let out a yelp as a motor thundered to life and high-powered headlamps suddenly blinded them. The van had been lying in wait at the other side of the bridge. Now, it was speeding toward them to run them down.

'Jump, Gus!'

Man and dog both leapt, their trajectory carrying them past the river's course and onto the riverbank. While both jumped, only one of them was a graceful sighthound with a long, springy stride. The other was John Watson and his string of luck had just run out. Gus landed on the soft, muddy bank and dashed for the woods. John landed amongst the concrete rubble and construction detritus strewn along the base and screamed in agony as his ankle turned. The bones in his leg splintered and snapped. Gus scampered back to his side just as the two men slid down the embankment.

John managed only two faltering steps before he was set upon. He sat huddled against the rubble trying to stifle his cries but the pain was too much. The thugs picked up short lengths of reinforcing bar from the rubble and circled their prey in anticipation. Gus whined and cringed, and danced out of range. John caught the first blow on his wrist, the second on his back. He didn't feel any of the subsequent ones.

.oOOo.

_**Next Chapter: December 26th**_


	6. December 26th

**Sherlock Holmes and**_** The Star of the East**_

_**Chapter Five: December 26th**_

.oOOo.

Lady Sylvia Morcar would not take _'Don't call us; we'll call you'_for an answer. So no one should have been surprised when she arrived at Scotland Yard early in the morning, impeccably dressed and ready for battle. Junior officers and other staff parted before her like the Red Sea as she made her way to DI Lestrade's office. There she filed the paperwork to retrieve her stolen property and demanded to learn the details of the case. She had received no information since that day when Sherlock Holmes had waltzed away with her beloved pet Borzoi, claiming the case of the missing gem was already solved. It was all very well that the gem was recovered, but she wanted her dog back too.

Her anger changed to concern when Sherlock showed her the CCTV footage of her dog and Dr Watson being abducted. Lestrade confirmed that this footage was connected to the disappearance of the John Watson featured in the news broadcasts.

'I'm so terribly sorry that your friend is all caught up in this, Mr Holmes. _The Star of the East_may be as cursed as they say.'

It was clear that everyone on the Lestrade's team were concerned about John Watson's fate. Tactics were proposed, considered, and refined. Sherlock insisted that the abductors were thieves and not likely to turn to murder. Lady Sylvia offered to post a substantial reward for information leading to John's safe return. Reluctantly, DI Lestrade had to turn down the offer. It was too much like paying ransom, and it would set a bad precedent.

They settled on disclosing the gem's theft and recovery in a press conference. If Sherlock was right, the kidnappers were not professionals. Once they heard of the gem's recovery, they would have no reason to continue to hold the dog, or Dr Watson, if they were still together. Lestrade thought it was a long shot. Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan thought it was a deadly gamble.

Sherlock's mobile buzzed. He was about to step away for some privacy, but saw the display, stopped short and looked at Lestrade.

'It's Sarah… I don't know what to tell her…'

'Gimme,' the DI requested, reaching for the phone. Sherlock handed it to him and returned a grateful look as Lestrade nodded in a reassuring way.

'You are lucky to have friends, Mr Holmes. I pray that Dr Watson is unharmed,' Lady Sylvia confided. 'All I have is my husband's money, and he probably stole it, so the only joy it brings me is to give it away. If it weren't for my sweet princess, Gusinya, I would be all alone in the world. Please find her. She is my only true friend and she worth more to me than anything.'

.oOOo.

'BBC News has a new development to report on concerning _The Star of the East_ diamond. It was only days ago when Lady Sylvia Morcar announced her intention to donate the famous, and perhaps infamous, gem to the British Museum. Since then, we have learned that the _The Star of the East_ diamond had been stolen, _and recovered_, over the course of the holiday. Lady Sylvia held a brief press conference at New Scotland Yard just minutes ago.'

'Although it would be normal to keep the incident private, I think it is important to let the people know what a professional job the Metropolitan Police did in retrieving _The Star_in record time. They have my highest respect and their efforts deserve to be recognised.'

'When asked if she would fill us in on what had happened, DI Lestrade, of the Major Crimes unit declined on her behalf: 'I'm afraid, the details of this case must remain private until the perpetrators are brought before the magistrates.'

'Lady Sylvia, shown here with the recovered gem, DI Lestrade, and others from his team, still plans to donate _The Star of the East_to the British Museum as scheduled. The stone, valued in excess of £5 000 000, will be used to raise funding for the national educational initiative, Educate Britain's Children.'

'Walter, does this sound like the end of the story?'

'Well, Diane. The Police are obviously reluctant to reveal all their information. Perhaps more details will be forthcoming in the next few days.'

'Thank you, Walter. That was Walter Simms, reporting from New Scotland Yard.'

.oOOo.

It was alarming, really, to wake up without blindfold or gag. If he thought about it, John would have realised this was a very bad thing; if he could identify his captors, they would have to kill him. Fortunately, John's brain was not working along those lines... it was hoping Father Christmas would bring him a blanket, or maybe some _Meccano_this year.

John could see daylight around the cracks in the door but the beating left him weaker than ever. His arms were numb and again were secured behind his back. He wondered why his legs were no longer secured until he tried to move. _Oh yeah... broken..._

.oOOo.

Many police officers detested legwork, but not Sally Donovan. It always gave her a feeling of purpose; of at least being able to do something. For her, waiting around for situations to develop was the most aggravating thing since the invention of consulting detectives.

Hundreds of calls regarding Dr Watson's disappearance flooded the Metropolitan Police hotline. Most of them were useless false leads, and some were even cruel pranks. By late afternoon, only two credible eyewitness accounts had been taken, and Sergeant Donovan was dispatched to interview them.

The first was from the two young women who happened to be crossing the churchyard at around 1500. They distinctly remembered the Borzoi, but were less certain about the man. All they recalled of John was that he had been polite and let them pat his dog. One thought that his coat was a bit ugly, but the other was so engrossed with the dog that she could not confirm that detail.

The second was from a young boy who had been walking along the pavement when he saw Father Christmas toss Dr Watson into the back of the van. When Father Christmas saw the child staring, he threatened by saying: 'He's on the naughty list. So you better watch out!' The boy had been distraught and had told his parents what had happened. They had soothed his fears by telling him that the real Father Christmas was still at the North Pole, making toys, and also by reminding him that they were of the Muslim faith and ersatz Father Christmases held no power over them. One detail that was of any use was that the rear bumper was not white, but black or dark grey. It must have been recent replacement and had not yet been painted to match the rest of the van.

.oOOo.

It was colder still when John woke asking 'Harry, is it Christmas yet?'

He felt someone shift closer. _Hairy... not Harry._He buried his face in Gus's curly mane.

'Gus... you smell like wet dog...'

Gus lifted an eyebrow but declined to tell John what he smelled like.

As the temperature once again dropped below freezing, John fought off the temptation to sleep. He spoke to Gus, who listened sympathetically to his disconnected ramblings of Sarah, Christmas, toys, warmth and food. John was glad that his shivering had stopped. Perhaps he had warmed up after all...

_**.oOOo.**_

_**Next Chapter: December 27th**_


	7. December 27th

**Sherlock Holmes and**_** The Star of the East**_

_**Chapter 6: December 27th**_

.oOOo.

At 0745, Jack Horner of Valley Rent-Alls arrived at his office. He loved holidays but as he found the in-laws to be more tiresome with each passing year, he was glad to be back to work. With most of his fleet idle, he would have time to finish off some of the end-of-year paperwork. He did not expect to be met at the door by two strange gentlemen, or that he would become involved in a police investigation.

'One of your vans has been linked to a kidnapping,' DI Lestrade informed him.

'Not that Watson thing from last week? It was in this news again this morning.'

'We're not at liberty to discuss the details, but we will need to examine your records.'

'This is a small company, sir. I only have twenty-six vehicles...'

'Can you tell me which ones are currently out?'

'I can do better than that! I've had customers fiddling with the odometers so I installed SatNav tracking on all of them. If they are parked outdoors, I should be able to locate any of them.'

Finally, something was working in their favour. Mr Horner powered up his computer.

'Also, the van in question may have a recently replaced rear bumper,' Sherlock reminded them.

'Yeah, there are a bunch of those. Faulty original installation... all covered under warranty. I had to do the replacement but I couldn't afford to lay them all up for painting at such a busy time of the year.'

The tracking software ran slowly on the old desktop computer. Horner pointed to the fancy espresso maker in the corner and told Sherlock and Lestrade to help themselves while they waited. Sherlock resisted the impulse to push Horner aside and run through the program himself. Lestrade busied himself with coffee-making and marvelling at what priorities this company had when their shiny, modern coffee machine was more efficient than their nearly obsolete computer.

'Won't this program show us a map of all of your fleet?'

'No, sorry. I have to select each vehicle, otherwise the computer will crash.'

'Well, start with the ones with the replacement fenders.'

Horner pulled a folder from his filing cabinet. His records indicated that there were four vans still requiring painting, and that of those, only two were actively leased. One was leased to a courier company in Shoreditch and the other, to a non-commercial customer in Barnsbury. The computer indicated that the first van had been idle, in London, for the past day.

'Where was it on the afternoon of the 23rd?'

'I'm sorry, Mr Holmes, but the program only displays the last twenty-four hours. The whole travel log is recorded on the on-board unit and has to be downloaded manually. I've dealt with these blokes before. They take on an extra van or two for holiday deliveries. Last year, they returned one half stuffed with poinsettias! One of their clients stiffed them, or something. I'll call them and offer to swap vans, if you like.'

'That might alert them and they may try to destroy the evidence. No, I'll have some of my team go and seize the vehicle. You can send a replacement van when we're done. What about the Barnsbury one?'

'The computer says it is in Dover and is idle as well... also not used in the last twenty-four hours. It is due back in a few days... on December 30th. The application lists 'moving residence' as its purpose. It was rented to Mr John Robinson. Here's his application form and a copy of his registration.'

They phoned John Robinson's contact number and found it out of service. Very suspicious. Lestrade then contacted his office and relayed Robinson's details. Waiting for a response increased the worried tension in his face. He closed his mobile and shook his head in resignation.

'Sorry. No luck. The ID is a fake. There's no telling if that is even his real name.'

'It isn't. No one goes through the trouble of obtaining good quality fake ID in their own name.'

'Good point, Sherlock. Donovan is on her way. I'll leave her in charge here. She can follow up on the false ID. If we're lucky, facial recognition programs may pick him up. She can also monitor the SatNav and let us know if the Dover van changes location. It's outside my patch. I'll contact Kent Police and tell them we're coming. We'll need their co-operation on this.'

'Don't tell them I'm coming too,' Sherlock warned.

'Why?'

'I may have some trouble with the Kent Police.'

'Why?'

'I solved a case for them two years ago.'

'Oh no. What happened? Wait, let me guess...'

'...they were being stupid. If I had let them go on, the murderer would have gotten away.'

'Not that arson case! Must you alienate everyone I need...?'

'...no gratitude whatsoever.'

.oOOo.

Lestrade was determined to set a new land-speed record for the London to Dover run and the two hour drive was completed in only an hour and a half. Sherlock fidgeted the whole time.

'Tell them we're coming, but don't tell them the address. I don't want their incompetence to compromise any evidence in the van.'

'Sherlock, they will need the address for the search warrant. It may even take that long to get one signed.'

'Fine. Have them meet us there, but under no circumstances are they to approach the vehicle.'

In fact, they met a unmarked Kent Police car half a kilometre from the address of the suspects' farm. In this open countryside there was no closer location to survey the house without being seen. Sergeant Hunter, a veteran of many years, met DI Lestrade and Sherlock while his rookie colleague, Constable Wright kept his binoculars trained on the property.

'We've been here nearly twenty minutes and there has been no movement,' Hunter handed the official search and seizure warrant to Lestrade to read. 'The van is still there. You can see the back end of it near the grey shed. I can call Dispatch if you think we will need more officers.'

Constable Wright added, 'I think the place is deserted and the van has been tipped. The family that owns the farm always travel to the Azores over the holidays. It's hard to believe they would be involved in anything criminal.'

Tyre tracks of a second vehicle were preserved in the frozen mud.

'Someone drove away in a compact car,' Sherlock observed.

'Nevertheless, be careful. Someone might still be around,' Hunter cautioned.

The back door to the farm house had been forced but there was nobody home. There was evidence of takeaway dinners consumed and use of the fireplace for heat. Frozen footprints indicated that two men had left in a car before the latest cold snap. The Kent officers radioed for a fingerprints team while Lestrade and Sherlock headed for the panel van.

'If nothing else, we can download the SatNav and find out where it's been.'

Sherlock was fumbling with his locksmithing tools when a noise that sounded like a groan issued from inside the van.

'Forget it, Sherlock. Constable, open this van!'

The PC Wright made short work of the lock with the slide hammer and a jemmy. Guns drawn, the doors were flung open. There, huddled in the corner, was a mob of unruly, muddy fur and a man's legs, one trouser leg darkened and bloodstained. Pools of bile and blood were frozen to the metal floor The dog slowly raised her head, blinking at the sudden daylight, then gave a low whimper and nudged her companion's inert form.

_'JOHN!'_

Lestrade's jaw dropped as, for the first time ever, Sherlock Holmes contaminated a crime scene by leaping into the van before anyone could stop him. John did not respond. He did not move. _Was he even breathing?_Gus stood on wobbly legs and staggered to the door where Lestrade gathered her into his arms and carried her over to his car.

'Lestrade, he's so cold! Bring a blanket!' Sherlock cut away the nylon ties securing John's wrists, peeled off his coat, wrapped it around his flatmate and pulled him close.

'Don't move him any more than necessary, Mr Holmes!' cautioned Wright, recalling his marine unit search and rescue training.

The Sergeant Hunter made a quick assessment of the situation and had already reported the medical emergency. The air ambulance was on its way.

Twelve minutes later, the helicopter landed. Two paramedics and a doctor jumped into the van and pushed Sherlock out of the way. Examining their casualty they found his pulse slow and sluggish. They flashed a penlight in his eyes and were concerned at the response. Taking care to avoid exposed skin which may have been frostbitten, they secured him to a backboard. They also cut away his trouser to reveal John's bloodied and swollen leg. Jagged bone protruded through his skin. His boot needed to be cut off with industrial shears. Throughout all this John remained unresponsive.

The paramedics conferred with their doctor and with hospital dispatch. They decided to forgo the local hospital and rush John directly to London. Sherlock, as if entranced, followed the gurney to the helicopter until Lestrade grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

'No. You can't go with him. They're carrying an extra medic. Do something useful. Call Sarah. Let her know... Royal London Hospital Emergency and Trauma Centre. E.T.A: fifteen to twenty minutes. She can keep you updated as we drive back. I'll take care of the paperwork with these Kent fellows later.'

.oOOo.

_**Next Chapter: December 28th**_


	8. December 28th

**Sherlock Holmes and ****_The Star of the East_**

_**Chapter 7: December 28th**_

.oOOo.

'This morning, new developments have occurred in a story that we have been following for the last few days. The Metropolitan Police have issued the following statement regarding the disappearance of Dr John H. Watson:

'The Metropolitan Police are happy to report that John Watson has been located and would like to extend their sincere thanks to everyone involved in this case.'

'Dr John Watson had been missing since December 23rd, and once again our police service refuses to disclose any details to the media. However, a confidential tip from an anonymous source stated that a man meeting Dr Watson's description had been air-lifted, in critical condition, to the Royal London Hospital yesterday. This adds to the speculation that Dr Watson was indeed the victim of a kidnapping. Of course, the police are remaining very closed-lipped at this time. All that DI Lestrade would say was that 'All of John's friends and family are relieved to have him safely back.'

'Walter, wasn't Detective Inspector Lestrade recently involved in the recovery of _The Star of the East_ diamond?'

'Yes, he was. But Major Crimes is always very busy, and as one of their senior investigators, he often acts as spokesman for the Unit. It is hard to imagine how these two cases could be related. I will be following up with officials and I will try to get an interview with John Watson. If he isn't the man in the Royal London, I should have a statement by the end of the day.'

'That is wonderful news. Dr Watson may have missed Christmas, but at least he can spend New Years with his family. Thank you, Walter. That was Walter Simms, reporting from New Scotland Yard for BBC News.'

.oOOo.

John Watson was unavailable for an interview, but sources close to him released a statement confirming his abduction and thanking everyone for their concern and their support. They also asked for privacy during his convalescence from his ordeal.

At the Royal London Hospital Trauma and Emergency Centre, John was treated for dehydration, moderate to severe hypothermia, minor frostbite, compound fracture of the tibia and fibula, and of course, shock. The trauma centre spent the first two days re-hydrating him and stabilising his body temperature. Warmed intravenous fluids were administered and a respirator provided humidified, oxygen-enriched, warmed air. In a less invasive method, a special heated air mattress was also used to bring his temperature back to normal levels. Seizures were a concern, but John experienced none of these. On the first day he had a few painful muscle spasms which were alarming enough to witness, even though the patient remained unconscious throughout.

On the night of December 29th, equipment monitoring John's vital signs alerted the nurse on duty that he was regaining consciousness. Right on schedule. He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by strangers. He searched the unfamiliar faces until he spotted Sarah, then he gave a weak, crooked smile and closed his eyes. Minutes later, when Sherlock barged into the room, John was fast asleep again.

Despite of Sherlock's arguments to the contrary, the investigation shifted away from the original theft of _The Star of the East_, where the evidence was flimsy at worst and circumstantial at best, to focus on John's assault and kidnapping. DI Lestrade went ahead without the need for John's account. He assigned Sergeant Donovan to coordinate the investigation with the Kent Police. Fingerprints and other evidence found in the farmhouse indicated two individuals; one matched the unknown contributor's prints found on John's mobile, and the other, Michael Maudsley, possessed a criminal record for robbery. Facial recognition programs used on the false drivers' licence determined John Robinson's true identity to be of Mr James Ryder of Wandsworth. Their names were circulated throughout British police services and Interpol, and arrest warrants were issued.

In the end, John's statement proved not to be very helpful. He had been blindfolded throughout his ordeal and had only limited contact with his abductors. The only time he had caught sight of them was on the night of his escape, and most of that was a blur. DI Lestrade and Sherlock questioned John until it was obvious that they were exhausting him. Rather than risking Sarah's ire, Lestrade returned to his office, leaving Sherlock alone in John's room.

Sherlock was clearly uncomfortable. Unless you counted morgues, hospitals were not to his liking. He fidgeted while John drifted in and out of sleep.

'...hey, Sherlock... ...knew you'd find me...'

'No, you didn't.'

'...what...?'

'You couldn't know, because I wasn't even sure I could.'

'...but you did...'

'Your reverse logic is flawed. If you were so confident that I would find you, you would not have attempted that disastrous escape.'

'...reverse what..?'

'Never mind. Get some sleep. We can discuss this when you can speak in complete sentences.'

'...okay... but hey, Sherlock... I knew you would find me...'

After the second day at John's side, and when the doctors were confident of his recovery, Sherlock declared vigils were boring and returned to Baker Street, asking only that Sarah kindly keep him informed as to his flatmate's condition. Sarah called her surgery and informed them that she would be taking some time off.

.oOOo.

On December 30, John was deemed stable enough, and surgery was performed to repair his leg that afternoon. Surgical plates and screws were used to realign the larger bone, while an external fixation scaffold was applied for the smaller fibula.

John spent New Years Eve under heavy sedation. Sarah remained at his side, answering calls from well-wishers. Sherlock returned to hover nearby, unintentionally (or so he claimed, when security threatened to evict him) harassing the nursing staff throughout the night and complaining about the coffee.

The Royal London Hospital released John a week later with their best wishes, a pair of crutches, and a prescription for heavy-duty painkillers.

.oOOo.

_**Next Chapter: January 6th**_


	9. January 7th

**Sherlock Holmes and ****_The Star of the East_**

_**Chapter 8: January 6th**_

.oOOo.

'The British Museum opened their newest special exhibit:_ The Star of the East and Other Imperial Treasures_ with a Grand Gala this evening. Celebrities and other notables from the worlds of politics, sports, and entertainment rubbed shoulders with Royalty this evening.

'Lady Silvia Morcar was on hand for the official ribbon cutting and paused for a few questions afterward.'

'Lady Morcar, can you comment on the recent speculation that the whole diamond robbery was just a publicity stunt to raise more attention for the exhibit?'

'Oh! Is that what they are saying? That would have been brilliant, but I'm sorry to say that the theft was indeed real, and the police have arrested the three individuals involved. And, if you will excuse me, I have a party to attend.'

'Thank you, Lady Morcar. Enjoy the gala!'

'That was Walter Simms, reporting from the British Museum. And for our viewers who will be celebrating Orthodox Christmas tomorrow, Happy Christmas from the BBC Evening News.'

.oOOo.

It was well after 2130 when Sherlock and DI Lestrade stopped outside Sarah Sawyer's building. Finalising the reports at New Scotland Yard took longer than expected but at least their work was done and the case was finally closed. Two male suspects arrested two days ago confessed and agreed to testify against their co-conspirator, Catherine Cusack. Ms Cusack, was arrested and detained earlier that day as she tried to take the Eurostar to Brussels. The paperwork was horrendous.

'Why couldn't we bring John home to Baker Street?' Sherlock asked as he pressed the buzzer in the lobby.

'Because Sarah's flat has a lift and John cannot do the twenty or more stairs at Baker Street.' Lestrade replied. 'Come on. They're waiting for us.'

'There are only seventeen steps...'

'Give it a rest, Sherlock. Nobody bloody cares how many steps you have!'

'It's about time!' Sarah exclaimed as she opened the door and ushered them in. 'There's still plenty of food and drink in the kitchen. Help yourself. Good luck finding a seat though; the sofa is otherwise occupied.'

John's welcome home party was a small gathering. Sarah had originally invited only Sherlock, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. The latter had popped over earlier in the day with a tray of John's favourite sandwiches and biscuits. Much to everyone's surprise, Lady Morcar had arrived unannounced with Gus at her side. Museum galas were so dull and she was glad to be able to slip away.

Given the choice between painkillers or alcohol, John chose the former. Cocooned in his heavy woollen jumper, he sat at one end of the sofa with his blanket draped legs propped up on an ottoman, one hand curled around a cup of unadulterated eggnog, and the other buried in Gus' wavy mane.

Borzoi can take up a lot of room when they want to. Gus took up the rest of the space on the couch and, for anyone with the audacity to ask her to move, she reserved a most incredulous expression.

'Dr Watson, you are spoiling my dog. She hasn't left your side since we got here.'

'Probably recognised that the sofa was the most comfortable place to sit.'

'Ha ha! You are too modest. It's more likely she recognised a friend!'

'She's a wonderful dog. Why did you name her 'Gus'?' asked John.

'I didn't. Her full name is 'Coombe Tracey's Czarina Gusinya'. Gusinya is _guardian angel_ in Russian, or so her breeder told me. I just call her Gus for short.' Realising she was the topic of discussion, Gusinya raised her head and cocked it on an inquisitive angle.

'She certainly lived up to her name! Thank you, my guardian angel,' John said as he scratched under Gusinya's ridiculously long and pointy chin.

Lestrade nudged Sherlock. 'John looks quite content. Perhaps you should let him have a dog.'

'That's actually the Oxycontin you're seeing. By your reasoning, I should let him have a drug habit.'

John gave Sherlock a dopey smile and raised two languid fingers in rude salutation.

'Sherlock, John said you solved the mystery of _The Star of the East_ based on a few crumbs of cheese found in a dog food bowl. Is that true?' asked Sarah.

'Of course. It was child's play. I'm surprised no one else figured it out. Everyone saw the same evidence, but only I observed. And from my observations I formed my deductions. The hotel suite was thoroughly searched. It seemed that Lady Morcar and her assistant were the only ones present at the time of the disappearance, until that ludicrous excuse of a dog padded into the room.'

Gusinya stiffened as if to object.

'S'okay, Gus. If you were human, he would have called you an idiot. He's like that... likely had inconsistent training as a pup...'

'Are you done, John? As I was saying, it was obvious to me that _The Star of the East_ was in the dog. The question was who had put it there. Both women were distressed, but whether that was due to the loss of the diamond, or due to guilt of its theft, I could not determine. So I took the dog and waited for a response.'

At the mention of the word 'dog', Gusinya wagged her tail. Sherlock nodded sagely, pausing for dramatic effect. Then he wrinkled his nose and pulled yet another long, clingy, white dog hair from his expensive dark trousers.

'So, if Lady Morcar had been guilty, she would have been more anxious to file a report with the police. Probably in prelude to a massive insurance claim. But no, she wanted to keep this all quiet. That is why she called me in to make an unofficial investigation. Clearly not the sign of guilt. On the other hand, her personal assistant, Catherine Cusack, was equally upset when I proposed to take the dog away. Why? It was clear that she not did like Gus. Her body language radiated disgust every time she found another dog hair. (Which is perfectly understandable, by the way.)' Sherlock fought the static cling which prevented the dog hair from disengaging with his fingers. 'And the dog's own body language indicated indifference to anyone who wasn't her master. So why the concern? It's obvious.'

'She knew the diamond was in the dog?'

'And, once it became obvious to me that the dog contained the gem, I knew Lady Morcar would not have put it there. Swallowing diamonds is very hazardous, albeit less so for dogs, but I doubt Catherine cared either way. She hoped that nature would take its course and if not, and the dog became ill, she would take her to a veterinarian, or in this case, the former veterinary technician, James Ryder.'

John instinctively covered Gusinya's ears so she would not hear the rest.

'If the diamond has not been recovered by natural means or emetics, Ryder would have cut her open. I rather forced their hand by taking the dog myself. Then they had to scramble to come up with another plan. They needed the dog and thought they had to grab me as well, since I suspected the truth.'

'That's when they grabbed John.'

'Yes. I don't understand why that keeps happening. It was unfortunate, but it did leave me time to recover the diamond. It's only because they found out that the stone had been found and returned, that they abandoned the job. John and Gus were lucky they were not dealing with hardened criminals. These two did not take Catherine's advice to kill their captives. They chose to flee instead.'

'And you figured this all out by looking at the dog food bowl?'

'I get it now! Catherine enticed Gusinya to swallow the stone.'

'So... the cheese crumbs!'

'I have it on good authority that dogs cannot resist a nice Wensleydale.'

.oOOo.

Lady Morcar was very relieved to have Gusinya back. 'I treasure her more than that stupid old rock,' she exclaimed. Naturally, John refused to accept her generous offer, stating that he did not rescue Gusinya; she, in fact, had rescued him.

_Why do people become so fond of their pets_, Sherlock wondered, days later as he secretly deposited the substantial reward money into John's bank account.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**  
1. No real Borzoi were harmed in the production of this story.  
2. Written for, and dedicated to my friends.  
3. Fluffy enough for you?

.oOOo.

_So, Dear Reader, we have reached the end of the story.  
Feedback is greatly appreciated so please leave a review or a PM._


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